Chapter 6: What Kind of Man He Is
Victor's lawyer arrived within the hour.
Marcus Webb was a tall man in his fifties with reading glasses pushed up on his forehead and the unhurried manner of someone who had handled crises so often they had become routine.
He shook my hand first, which surprised me.
Most adults in suits looked past me entirely.
"You're Olivia," he said.
"Yes."
"Elena spoke about you." He said it simply, without elaboration, and moved on.
"Victor, walk me through the situation."
They sat at the small table in the corner of the basement.
I stayed close enough to hear.
Victor didn't ask me to leave.
"DCFS has given us until ten tomorrow," Victor said.
"I need emergency guardianship filed today, a certified safety assessment of this space, and a plan that Sandra Okafor will accept."
"Emergency guardianship for all six?"
"All six."
Marcus wrote something.
"That's not a simple filing, Victor.
The court will want to know your relationship to these children."
"I'm aware."
"And your relationship is—"
"Complicated." Victor glanced at Noah, who was sitting on his bed across the room, carefully stacking three small wooden blocks that Mia had handed him.
"File it as humanitarian emergency guardianship.
I have the financial standing and the property.
We'll establish relationship details through the process."
"The court may push back."
"Then we push back harder."
Marcus looked at me.
"Miss Hart, you've been the primary caregiver for how long?"
"Almost a year."
"And before that, Elena Russo was the caregiver of record?"
"She wasn't official either.
But she was all they had."
"Were there any other adults involved?
Anyone who contributed financially, visited regularly, had any documented role?"
"No."
He wrote again.
"Then you are the only continuous presence these children have had for the past year."
"Yes."
"The court will want to speak with you."
"I know."
He looked at me over his glasses.
"You're not frightened."
"I'm very frightened," I said.
"I just don't have time for it right now."
Something moved across his face.
He turned back to Victor.
"I'll file within two hours.
But Victor — the safety assessment is going to flag this space.
Basement dwelling, no registered address, no utility accounts in any guardian's name."
"What do we need to fix that?"
"Tonight?
Everything."
Victor nodded once.
"Then we fix everything tonight."
What followed was the strangest evening of my life.
Victor made calls.
People arrived.
An electrician checked the wiring.
A woman with a checklist went through the food supplies and the medicine box and the first aid kit and wrote things down with an expression that kept shifting between professional neutrality and something that looked almost like disbelief.
"You made this inventory yourself?" she asked me, holding up the list taped inside the first aid kit.
"Yes."
"How old are you?"
"Thirteen."
She looked at the list again.
Then she kept writing.
At some point, Victor sat down beside Noah without making a production of it.
Noah was still with his blocks.
Victor watched him for a moment, then picked up one of the fallen blocks and handed it back.
Noah took it.
"Thank you," Noah said carefully, the way children do when they've been taught the words but aren't sure of the feeling yet.
"You're welcome," Victor said.
Lucas, from across the room, watched this exchange with the expression of someone filing it away.
At nine that evening, Marcus called.
Victor stepped away to take it.
When he came back, his face was composed but his eyes were doing something different.
"It's filed," he said.
I let out a breath I hadn't known I was holding.
"That's the good news," he said.
I looked at him.
"Richard has also filed.
He's petitioned the court to have the children placed in state care on the grounds that my guardianship application represents a conflict of interest." Victor paused.
"He's claiming I have a financial motive.
That I'm trying to acquire the children to establish legal claim to Elena's estate."
"Elena didn't have an estate."
"No.
But Elena had documents.
Specifically, documents that Richard believes she left behind — documents that could affect the ownership of a property portfolio that my father transferred to Elena's name twelve years ago before he passed."
The room was very quiet.
"Richard is your—"
"Uncle." The word came out flat.
"And he has been trying to recover those properties for eleven years."
I looked at the children.
At Noah stacking his blocks.
At Mia watching him.
At Daniel standing near the wall, pretending not to listen.
"He doesn't care about them at all," I said.
"No," Victor said.
"He never did."
"Then what happens tomorrow when Sandra Okafor comes back and finds two competing filings?"
May you like
Victor looked at me steadily.
"That depends," he said, "on whether you still have everything Elena gave you."
